


icarus

by SleeplessAnon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, No Widowmaker, Pining, just amelie, sad gay stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 11:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleeplessAnon/pseuds/SleeplessAnon
Summary: in which lena flies too close to the sun





	icarus

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: i found this story half-finished in my google drive under the title "s a d b o i". forgot i had started it lol. but i finished it! so here we go...
> 
> update: i added a small edit to the conversation between Gerard and Lena. It's not important, just a little detail i had left out.

Sometimes you wonder if you were doomed from the start.

You’ve always had shite luck when it comes to these things anyway. It certainly wouldn’t surprise you. The truth of the matter is that being in love comes to you all too naturally. It’s unbearable, to love and expect nothing in return. But you suppose it comes with the territory. You’ve never known if tomorrow would come, so why bother with expectations?

You figure she’ll never understand that.

You figure that might be for the better.

* * *

 

Your first meeting is in the med bay. She’s there for Gérard, of course. (She always is.)

You’re in the bed right next to him, napping off a particularly nasty bullet wound, when you’re awoken by gentle murmurings in French. She’s leaning over him, hands running over his face, worry evident in her eyes.

He smiles up at her, clearly enamored. _“Don’t worry, my love,”_ he says softly in French. _“I am fine, thanks to my dear friend in the bed next to me. She took a bullet meant for me.”_

She turns to you then, and your eyes meet amber ones. It’s not love at first sight, not by a long shot, but even so, the first thing you notice about her is that she is an objectively attractive woman. You’re still hopped up on painkillers, and your body feels too heavy to move, but you manage to lift a hand in a small salute.

“Cheers, luv,” you croak out, and god, your voice sounds awful even to you.

She doesn’t seem to care, reaching out to grasp your hand. _“Thank you,”_ she cries, voice choked with sobs. “Thank you for bringing him home to me.” Her accent is a touch heavier than Gérard’s, you notice.

You smile, “‘S what I’m here for, luv. Can’t very well leave this idiot to fend for himself.”

The three of you share a small laugh. Your bruised ribs protest, but you don’t let it show, and they don’t notice.

* * *

 

From there, you are quietly folded into their lives. You’d been close with Gérard since joining Overwatch, but Amélie is a new, but not unwelcome addition to your life.

You and Gérard go on missions, sometimes together, sometimes apart, but Amélie is there to see you off regardless. It’s the first time you’ve had such a thing - more often than not, your closest and most trusted friends are the people climbing onto the transport with you. To be leaving someone on the ground, waving a goodbye and praying for your return, well. You think you could get used to it.

Although you haven’t, not quite yet. It makes you a little uncomfortable, sometimes. Sometimes, in the heat of the battle, you remember that hand, waving delicately through the air and it makes you hesitate. And you know, better than anyone else, how precious a few seconds can be. Sometimes, when your moment of hesitation costs you, you wonder if you didn’t come back, would they cry for you?

But you recall, recall again, and you’re back where you were, trapped in the same loop.

* * *

 

You’ve fallen in love, as is your nature. It seems inevitable, between all the private conversations where you confide in each other, and the soft warmth in her smiles. She’s unattainable - unsurprisingly. You’ve always had a thing for chasing after the impossible. This is the first time it’s a bad thing, though (the Slipstream incident notwithstanding). You don’t let it show, hard as it is for you. You’ve never been one for suppressing your emotions, but the Lacroix's are the first good thing to happen to you in a long time, and you’re determined not to fuck it up.

Easier said than done, obviously. You can’t really control the quickening of your pulse or the dilating of your pupils. You take up meditation with Zenyatta, hoping it will help. It does, eventually. But it takes time, and an excruciating amount of it.

There are moments when you hate her. For not knowing, not seeing. And more than her, you hate yourself, for loving her. You know, ostensibly, that it’s not her fault. That she and Gérard are a match made in heaven, and no scruffy British girl is worthy of getting between them. But oh, it aches sometimes. There are times when want to curl up into yourself, so you don’t have to think about it anymore.

But you’ve long since resigned yourself to the facts, so your self-pity only lasts so long before you’re up and running again.

Quite literally, in fact. You take up running again, a pastime you had dropped after the Slipstream incident. Angela voices her approval - she’s always worried about the trauma holding you back. In the exhilaration and adrenaline, you learn to forget the things you can’t control, and focus on what you can. It’s wonderful and incredible, and so, so freeing.

And it only takes one night for you to spiral all the way back down.

You think you’re probably destined to live your whole life like Icarus.

* * *

 

The night in question is well into the years of friendship you’ve shared with the French couple. You’re keeping Amélie company, as you do many nights when Gérard is away on a mission.

This night, however, you’ve been drinking. Amélie hasn’t had a sip all night, but you’re too pleasantly buzzed to really care. It had taken you a long time before you trusted yourself enough to drink around Amélie, and you’re determined to enjoy yourself.

This personal victory has you distracted enough that you don’t notice how off Amélie seems. You only cheerfully offer her a drink, saying, “Luv, you oughta have a good time! You opened up such a nice bottle of wine an’ all!”

She looks up from her hands, which are clenched in her lap. Her face is oddly pale. “Lena,” she whispers. “I think I am pregnant.”

You freeze, and for a moment all the drunken warmth in your belly goes cold. But you take a deep breath, remembering yourself, and force a wide grin on your face. “That so? Well, congrats, luv! Does Gérard know yet?”

She doesn’t smile back. “ _Non_ ,” she mumbles. “I do not know if I’ll tell him.” And those words cut through your mood, shattering any pretense of a celebratory conversation.

“What are you talking about?” Despite all the drink in you, you feel strangely, painfully sober right now.

“It’s just -” she pauses, unsure of how to voice her thoughts. “This is not what I imagined for us,” she confesses.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I have always wanted a family, but…” She hesitates again. “Not while Gérard is still in Overwatch, when he could leave us at any time.”

“I see,” you say, swallowing. “But ya know Gér is crazy for you, right? All you would have to do is just ask him! I’m sure he’d rather take care of his child than risk his life out there. Sure, it would be a loss to Overwatch, but we’ve always made do anyhow. And I’m sure Overwatch would take care you guys, considering all that Gérard has done for us.”

She stares back at you, and somehow it feels different from every other time your eyes have met. “It’s...not just that,” she whispers.

“Well, then what is it?” you ask, past the odd lump forming in your throat. “You know you can tell me anything, luv.”

“ _Je connais,_ ” she says shakily. “That is part of the problem.”

“I - I don’t understand,” you respond.

The smile she gives you is full of regret, and something in your mind is telling you to leave, leave right now. But your body, still slowed by the alcohol, stays where it is, even as your mind flees out the door.

“I think you do, _chérie_ ,” Amélie whispers, and, with that, she presses forward, lips colliding with yours.

For a moment, you forget yourself, and return the kiss. You can’t help it. You’re drunk, and sort of confused, and you’ve just wanted this for so, so long. But it only lasts a moment. Then, you’re jerking back, almost violently, pulling away from her despite your body’s protests.

“Amé - you - I - this can’t -“ The words fail you, and you’re backing up, a little unsteady.

“Lena,” she says, getting up and taking a step toward you. “I am not blind. I know how you feel.”

“That it, then?” you shoot back, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach. “Need an easy lay to get you through a tough time?”

“No!” she cried, “ _Non, non, chérie_. This is -” she cuts herself off, grasping for words.

Her denial shakes you for a moment, but it only hardens your resolve. You’re sure that the thought that she genuinely loves you will only make it all the more painful when she chooses Gérard over you. So you’d rather not know if she does.

You’re out the door before she can say any more, stumbling slightly on the stairs, ignoring the pleas at your back. If you look back here, you’re sure the world is going to come crashing down on your head.

* * *

 

You confide everything to Winston, after that. He listens quietly, patient and kind. He gently rests a comforting hand on your back, then draws you into a warm hug. That’s when you let yourself cry. You wonder how you’d managed to wrap yourself up in self pity so much that you’d forgotten that you’d had this support all along.

“I can’t do this,” you sob into his shoulder. “I can’t be the one to ruin everything.”

“You won’t,” he assures you gently. “Everything will be alright.”

And just a little bit, you believe him.

With only a little resistance, Winston agrees to put you on Mei’s team to reinstate the Antarctic Watchpoint as a satellite surveillance and data analysis center, just to take some time away from the whole situation. 

* * *

 

The mission takes a full year.

Talon somehow catches wind of Overwatch’s operations and decides to make life difficult for the scientists and engineers at work at the new Watchpoint. They don’t delve a lot of resources into it, considering the distance that they would have to travel to get there, so you, Mei and Satya suffice in holding off attacks. Gibraltar is still raising hell for Talon, so eventually the enemy withdraws and the engineers are able to install proper security measures.

It’s a relief, but a part of you dreads what comes after your job is done. Home does not sound nearly as appealing as it ought to.

* * *

 

Your return to Gibraltar is a quiet affair, as per your request. Angela and Winston wait for you as your transport touches down. You hug them both, and Winston smiles gently at you. The two of you hadn’t kept in close contact after you had left, apart from official business, so you felt a rush of joy being able to see your best friend up close for the first time in a year.

You had left Antarctica a few days earlier than the rest of the returning team, who were still wrapping up some loose ends. They would receive a banquet in honor of their success. You were hoping that by then, Winston would have found some new mission for you, and you could avoid it altogether.

One look into his eyes, however, confirms your worst fears.

No more running away. 

* * *

 

You arrive at the banquet feeling like you might throw up.

It’s at a fancy hotel, with fancy servers carrying around fancy plates of hors d'oeuvres, and fancy decor lining the tables of the banquet hall. You nervously pull at your tie, unused to formal occasions. Standing frozen at the entrance, you feel very much the ratty street orphan that you used to be. But you take a breath, straighten your tie, and step inside.

Familiar faces greet you, and your back hurts from getting clapped on the back by McCree, then Zarya, then Reinhardt. And the sick feeling in your stomach eases, and you’re laughing and smiling effortlessly.

Then, across the room, you see Gérard, and your stomach freezes up again. You look away quickly, but can’t help a second curious glance. This time, your eyes meet his, and he smiles warmly at you, walking toward you.

Your pulse is racing and you can feel sweat forming on your forehead and under your arms. He reaches you, and before you can say anything, pulls you into a hug.

“Lena Oxton, as I live and breathe,” he says. “It has been far too long.” He glances around the group. “You don’t mind if I pull her away for a moment? We have much catching up to do.”

Nobody disagrees, and you find yourself being pulled away, toward the doors to the balcony.

In the cold evening air, Gérard lights up a cigarette.

“Lena,” he breathes out with a puff of smoke. “Relax.”

“Dunno if I can,” you mumble back. _He knows, he knows._

“Lena,” he repeats. “You must know. Despite all that has happened, I have never stopped thinking of you as a friend. I know the things you have done for me, on and off the battlefield, and those debts I can never fully repay. Are you understanding?”

“Y-yes.” _Not really, no._

“Amélie told me everything. And it was hard for me to accept at first, that she could come to love someone more than she did me. It took me time. But I know now. The most important thing to me is her happiness.”

_Whatishappeningwhatishappeningwhat-_

"What - what about the child?"

"A false alarm," he smiles gently. “Listen, Amélie and I have parted ways, although we remain friends.” He turns then to meet your eyes. “I know what you are like, Lena. I know that you think far too little of yourself, and that you put everyone else first. I will not stand in the way of the happiness of those I care most about, because that is _my_ happiness.”

Your eyes are burning now. His hands are on your shoulders. “Lena,” he whispers. “Make her happy.”

You’re at a loss for words, covering your mouth to stifle a sob. He wraps you up in a hug, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest. “Now, now. You’re one of the stars of this party. It won’t do to have you cry today.” You nod helplessly into his shoulder.

After you take a few minutes to collect yourself, the two of you head back inside. Gérard huffs out a small laugh. “Speak of the devil,” he says, his gaze on something across the room. “Fashionably late as always.” And then, without warning, he makes his way across the banquet hall in her direction.

He gives her a hug, and they exchange pecks on each others’ cheeks. You can’t hear what they say from where you are, but you can see him turning toward you, and panic keeps you rooted to the spot. Her amber eyes meet yours, and all the air in the room suddenly disappears. She begins to walk in your direction and your panic only seems to intensify.

She stops in front of you, giving you a once-over, but doesn’t seem to be able to say anything.

You smile somewhat sheepishly. “Amélie,” you breathe out.

“Lena,” she says back, smiling too now, and _oh,_ something warm is spreading in your heart now.

She opens her mouth to say something else, but she’s cut off by the clinking of a fork on glass. Morrison’s voice booms out, “Everyone, we’re about to begin. Please take your seats.”

And then you’re being whisked away to sit at the head of the main table along with the rest of the Antarctic team. You manage to get in an apologetic glance over your shoulder, and she smiles a little. _It’s going to be okay._

* * *

 

The banquet drags on for an impossibly long amount of time, all of yours being spent stealing glances across the room at Amélie, who catches you almost one hundred percent of the time. You like to think it’s because she’s stealing glances at you too.

Finally, mercifully, the banquet comes to a close, and you make a beeline for Amélie’s table. But when you arrive there, you find it already empty. Glancing around, you can’t seem to find her in the crowd. Figuring she must have gone to the restroom, you decide to wait outside.

As you exit the main doors, something yanks your wrist, and you’re pulled stumbling into an empty hallway. Without warning, you’re shoved into a small alcove, and hands slam down on the wall on either side of your head.

And then Amélie’s lips are on yours and the whole world seems to tip on its axis. Her hands leave the wall to tangle in your hair, and yours grasp her hips to pull her closer. Her tongue presses its way between your lips, and you think you might faint then and there.

Finally, the two of you need to come up for air, and she pulls back, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as she does.

“ _Je suis désolé_ ,” she pants. “For scaring you back then. For hurting you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you whisper back. “For running away.”

She huffs out a breathless laugh. “To Antarctica, no less. Honestly, _chérie_. You can truly damage a woman’s ego.”

“S’pose I should do a little damage control then,” you grin. “You are truly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Amé. Really truly. I’ve never wanted anyone more in my entire life. You’re the entire _universe_ , luv, and more. There’s -”

“ _Arrête ça!_ ” she cries, laughing now, red in her cheeks. Her French comes out more when she’s flustered, you’ve noticed. “Stop it, Lena, you are too much.”

You laugh back, and she presses impossibly closer. “Take me home, Lena,” she whispers in your ear, voice husky and low. The smile drops from your face, and you swallow.

“A-are you sure?” you choke out.

She smiles slyly at you, toying with your tie. “ _Chérie_ , this suit you are wearing...It has been driving me mad all night.”

“That so?” you ask, feeling a small smirk spreading on your face. “That won’t do. Seems you oughta take it off me then.”

“Oh, I plan on it,” she says. “So let’s go.”

You’ve never driven faster in your life.

* * *

 

Basking in the quiet morning light that filters through the window, you smile softly at the sleeping face of the woman lying next to you. You brush your hand across her cheek, tucking the loose strands of hair back behind her ear.

She blinks awake at this, an incoherent sleepy mumble escaping her lips.

“Morning, luv,” you whisper.

“Good morning,” she murmurs back.

And god, but you could spend your whole life waking up like this and never get tired of it. And the look on her face tells you that you just might do that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> yay a happy ending :))) it's a lil cheesy but i could use a lil cheesy right about now. it's a bit of a rushed ending but i'm dying rn at school and i really didn't want to leave it unfinished any longer, since i haven't had any time to write recently. hope you guys enjoyed it! i'll hopefully be doing more writing once school gets out.


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